


safety in numbers

by youcouldmakealife



Series: it's a setup [12]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, YCMAL 'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24992407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: Joey’s got his head on a swivel the second they land in LA. He’s just waiting for Zach to pop up, and he hates to admit it, even to himself — and he sure as shit isn’t going to admit it to anyone else, including and especially Scratch — but it’s comforting to have Scratch glued to his side, still in full on bodyguard mode, though he’s thankfully dressed normally now.
Relationships: OMC/OMC
Series: it's a setup [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669567
Comments: 33
Kudos: 308





	safety in numbers

Joey’s got his head on a swivel the second they land in LA. He’s just waiting for Zach to pop up, and he hates to admit it, even to himself — and he sure as shit isn’t going to admit it to anyone else, including and especially Scratch — but it’s comforting to have Scratch glued to his side, still in full on bodyguard mode, though he’s thankfully dressed normally now.

It’s not that Joey’s worried about Zach physically assaulting him, because he wouldn’t. Zach never laid a hand on Joey in his life. No, Zach’s thing was making Joey feel small as hell, and he was great at that. Though Joey wasn’t the only one he did that to, that’d be flattering himself — Zach did it to plenty of people, Joey was just the guy dumb enough not to say ‘fuck this’ and book it the first or fifth or twentieth time it happened. Zach didn’t have any friends when Joey met him, but Joey hadn’t noticed that until later. 

Joey didn’t have any friends left by the time he dumped Zach.

Joey’s a lot smarter than he was at nineteen, or at least a lot more bitterly aware of the world, so he’d never fall for it a second time — what he thought was charming from Zach at the time is ugly as fuck to him now. So it’s not that he’s worried if Zach showed up he’d go swooning back to him, it’s that if Zach showed up, Joey would probably curl up into the tiny ball he was when he was with him, the tiny ball Zach wanted him to be, and he’s worked so fucking hard to get past that for over half a decade, still hasn’t really managed.

Zach never had any issue finding what was ugly about Joey, making Joey feel ugly. The teeth Joey’s lost since he last saw him would make it way too easy. Joey doesn’t put them in when he’s getting dressed to go to the Staples Center. It’s pathetic that not putting his bridge in feels like some kind of win, even more pathetic because he spends at least ten minutes making sure his suit is as sharp as it can be, another fifteen trying and failing to make his hair look okay.

“Looking good, Money,” Willy says when Joey gets down to the lobby, and Joey looks for the sarcasm in it, the barb, before realizing he’s doing it, hating that he’s doing it. Joey’s wearing his best suit, an expensive as hell custom tailored one he got as a Christmas present for himself, one that fits him perfectly, that he feels good in. He brought it on this trip for a reason. He’s probably looking good, or at least as good as he can.

“Hey,” Scratch says when he arrives, elbowing Joey in the ribs, like he’s somehow telepathically picked up that Joey’s in a self-conscious spiral. “That’s not—” He gestures at Joey’s hair, his everything after that. “That’s not for him, right?”

“Just don’t want to give him any ammo,” Joey says. The ‘s’ comes out sharp, and now he’s regretting that minor defiance in leaving his teeth upstairs. He’d go back, but they’re already calling the group over to the coach, and when Joey looks around, it looks like the whole team’s there. Fuckers, being punctual for the first time in their entire lives just when he needs them not to be. 

Scratch sits beside him on the bus, between Joey and the aisle like Zach’s going to what, sneak onto the bus? Still, Scratch’s shoulder nudging his is a comfort, even if it’s a bit of a squish. 

“Should I like, case the joint?” Scratch murmurs to Joey when they arrive. “Or are you gonna make fun of me if I do?”

“You don’t know what he looks like,” Joey reminds him.

“Point for Money,” Scratch allows. 

“I doubt he cared enough to try to find out where I’d be anyway,” Joey says. He repeatedly professed that the only interest he had in Joey’s hockey career was the fact it meant Joey had a great ass, which was probably the only part of Joey that never Zach never dissed.

“Hey,” Scratch says, elbowing him. “Out of your head.”

“Yeah,” Joey agrees, but he sinks right back into it when they’re piling out, head back on that swivel. No Zach anywhere, which is what he expected, but he doesn’t feel relieved, not when he gets inside, not when he stretches, turning down the usual kicking the ball around routine but waving Scratch off when he hesitates, like if Joey isn’t doing it he won’t either. He spends more time during warm-ups gauging the crowd than he does taking pot-shots at Trigger, and even during the game he feels like he plays on autopilot. Thankfully Willy’s line nets them a cushion early, and Scratch’s line builds on it, so while Joey was mostly a non-factor, he didn’t hurt the team either.

The guys are all planning on bar-hopping after — practice tomorrow’s optional, and LA’s one of, if not the best city to go out in after a win — but Joey’s not feeling it for obvious reasons. 

“Gonna hang out with the guys?” Scratch asks as Joey replaces his towel with boxers. He’s still in his pads, had a post-game interview after a two point night, which isn’t exactly his usual.

“I don’t know,” Joey says. “I feel like staying in.”

“Figured,” Scratch says, and waves off an invite from Trigger. “Wait for me before you head back? I’ll shower quick.”

“You should go out,” Joey says. Scratch probably wants to celebrate the two-pointer. Any other time Joey would be celebrating it with him, but he’s sure he’d just bring the general atmosphere down with his paranoia right now, and Scratch would waste his night sticking by Joey’s side and suspiciously eyeing every guy that got near their table instead of enjoying himself.

Scratch makes a negative noise. “Gotta protect my Money.” 

“I doubt he even knows what hotel I’m at, let alone my room number,” Joey says. Hotel would be possible — he’s sure people post on the internet about where teams stay on roadies, because he doubts the fans waiting outside their hotels in certain cities are just psychic, or alternately that there are fans staked out at every nice hotel across a city — but again, that would imply Zach cared enough to check. 

Scratch shrugs. “Not gonna take the chance.”

“Bud, I could literally take him with one arm behind my back,” Joey says. Which is true, not that it’s what he’s worried about.

Scratch shrugs again. “You’re stuck with me tonight, deal with it,” he says.

“Fine,” Joey says. “Wanna pick up some beers on the way back?” he asks. Scratch should celebrate the two points at least a _little_. 

“If you make me drink White Claw again I swear to fuck,” Scratch says.

“I said beers,” Joey protests, but like — okay, he maybe meant White Claws. Whatever. Beer’s gross, but if Scratch wants to drink it he can knock himself out.

“It’s literally just bubbly water and vodka and like someone breathed the idea of a cherry in its general direction,” Scratch bitches when Joey picks up White Claws. “Like not even an actual cherry, just the _idea_ of a cherry.”

“Dude, you’re holding a six pack of Coors,” Joey says. “You have no high ground here.”

“It’s Banquet,” Scratch says, like that makes it any better. 

“Ooh, the fancy Coors,” Joey says. “The Coors for _banquets_.”

Scratch gives him the finger over his fancy Coors.

“Gimme your stupid beer, I’m paying,” Joey says.

Scratch hugs it to his chest. “You’re not paying for my beer because you feel responsible for me not going out.”

“No,” Joey says. “I’m paying for your beer because I would have bought you two drinks for your two points and honestly the six-pack’s much cheaper than that would have been.”

“Fair,” Scratch says, and relinquishes the beer to Joey’s grip.

“The Coors aren’t mine,” Joey says, because the cashier looks kind of judgy.

“I can’t believe you thought she was judging the beer,” Scratch snickers as they leave. “The _beer_.”

“She probably likes White Claws,” Joey says. Everyone likes White Claws, except Scratch, whose sweet tooth is so intense that if it doesn’t have at least ten tablespoons of sugar in it he probably won’t think it’s sweet enough. Even Trigger liked it the one time Joey managed to convince him to try it, right up until Scratch started an anti-White Claw tirade and Trigger suddenly had a beer in his hand instead because Scratch has far too much influence over him.

“How the _fuck_ did domesticate Trigger?” Joey asks, probably for the hundredth time. 

“Weird topic change,” Scratch says, and once again refuses to tell him. Joey will get it out of him one day. He’d think blackmail, but Scratch wouldn’t blackmail anyone. Mind control? Magic? Being the first person Trigger ever met in his entire life and Trigger imprinted on him like a duckling meeting its mom? Like, yes, Trigger has parents, Joey has in fact met his parents, but there’s no better explanation.

“Are you magic?” Joey asks.

Scratch squints at him. “That theory again?”

“It’s as likely as any other,” Joey says.

“Not supposed to tell muggles,” Scratch says. “It’s against the Statute of Secrecy.”

“Nerd,” Joey says, and when Scratch hip checks him Joey hip checks him back.

They crack their drinks when they get back to Joey’s room — no Zachs en route — and Scratch squints at the room service menu while Joey mulls over the eternal question: Netflix, Hulu, or Prime.

He’s feeling lazy, so default: Netflix. 

“They’ve got cake on the menu,” Scratch announces.

“Everyone’s got cake on the menu,” Joey says.

“ _Chocolate_ cake,” Scratch says.

“Oh man, the rarest of the cake flavors,” Joey says. “Gotta get that or you might never find it again.”

“I’m getting cake,” Scratch decides. 

Joey’s shocked.

“You want cake?” Scratch asks, then, “Nah, you don’t want cake. They’ve got a salad that looks tempting. It has _radishes_ in it.”

Joey is fully aware he’s being mocked, but that does sound tempting. People are sleeping on radishes: they’re the best.

“Yeah, get me the salad,” Joey says. “Preferences?”

“Cake,” Scratch says as he picks up the phone. Clearly his mind is otherwise occupied, so Joey scrolls through recommendations. Seen it, seen it, why the fuck is Netflix recommending shit he’s seen and rated, no interest, possible. He adds it to his watchlist while Scratch orders their food, then decides to scroll through the watchlist instead, because it’s getting so big it’s started to low-key stress him out whenever he looks at it.

“Ooh,” Scratch says over his shoulder. Joey figures that makes it less watchlist material and more ‘hit play’ material, so he does. 

“Wait,” Scratch says, so Joey pauses. He wouldn’t be surprised if Scratch needed his cake to arrive before he committed to anything. “Did you want to talk?”

Joey squints at him. “About—”

“Zach?” Scratch asks.

“I mean, I feel like all we’ve done since I got that message is talk about Zach,” Joey says.

“I know,” Scratch says. “But if you wanted to talk more about it — I’m here, you know?”

“I’m good,” Joey says. “Really,” he adds, when Scratch gives him a doubtful look. “Like obviously I’m not _good_ good, and I probably won’t relax until we’re literally on the plane taking off — I don’t need to talk about it, you know? I talked to Owen about it, that helped, kind of — cleared shit from my system, you know?”

“Sure,” Scratch says.

“I think I just needed to vent to someone who gets it, you know?” Joey asks.

“Sure,” Scratch repeats. “I’m gonna change before the food gets here.”

Probably smart, unless Scratch wants to get chocolate icing on his suit. A careful eater Nick Angelopoulos is not.

The food gets there before Scratch is back, but Joey waits for him — it’s not like his salad’s going to get cold or whatever — cracks a White Claw while he does.

“Cake,” Scratch says happily when he comes back, pushing past Joey like he’s — well, like he’s an obstacle to cake, which in fact he is. “Beer me.”

“Beer yourself,” Joey says, but goes to beer him anyway. It’s a good night. The salad’s delicious, the movie’s great, the refreshing idea of a cherry is enough to get him on the nice edge of tipsy — well, probably that’s the vodka, but whatever. Joey realizes when Scratch heads back to his own room that he hadn’t thought of Zach once since Scratch offered to talk about it, and even when he does think of him, it’s with the relief that he didn’t have to see him, mostly untainted by the bitterness of knowing Zach didn’t care enough. Who gives a fuck what Zach Boone thinks of Joey Munroe? Not Joey, not with his White Claw buffer.

 _How’d today go?_ Owen texts him while he’s brushing his teeth before bed. _I was a little worried._

 _No Zach_ , Joey texts back. _So pretty good._

Owen sends Joey a smiley, and Joey smiles in the mirror, only grimaces a little at the gap-tooth foamy mouth picture he makes, then decides to send a selfie to Scratch with _rabies!!!_.

Scratch sends him an eyeroll emoji, which is rich, because as Joey gets into bed he receives a selfie from Scratch with a tooth-pasty scowl.

 _dork_. Joey texts.

 _you literally did it first dork_ , Scratch replies.

 _doooork_ , Joey texts, and is completely unsurprised when his phone buzzes with an incoming call. He knows exactly what he’s about to hear.

“Dork,” Joey says.

“You’re the dork,” Scratch says.

“Nope, you,” Joey says. 

“Go the fuck to bed, Munroe,” Scratch says, and Joey would argue but, sounds good.

 _bedtime_ , Joey texts, along with a selfie of him under the covers, and waits for Scratch’s matching one before he hits the lights.

**Author's Note:**

> Your periodic reminder that I have a tumblr for the YCMAL 'verse [here](https://youcouldmakealife.tumblr.com/)


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